Page 22

Rafferty

I stand in the dim light of the old barn. It’s rickety on a good day, and the gnarly wood creaks in protest every time the wind picks up. But this space is mine. My bolthole. My escape from them, the rest of my family.

In my hand I clutch a wrench, tinkering with my motorbike. It’s a classic. One I’ve meticulously rebuilt part by part. It’s not ready to go yet, but it will be.

But the Norton Commando won’t build itself.

The metal creaks and groans beneath my touch, a familiar sound that’s always soothed me. Even as a kid I was always out here, building something, creating a way to escape the confines of that stifling mansion and my toxic as fuck family.

The thought of hitting the open road fills me with a sense of freedom I’ve been craving from the minute I returned to this damned island, but I can’t leave yet. I have to see this through.

I had an agreement -and I intended to follow through on it.

The sound of heavy footsteps crunching over the gravel alerts me to the fact someone is approaching. I don’t need to look up to know it’s my brother. Even his walk is distinctive enough to single him out.

As he storms in, I glance up, wondering what possible reason he has to grace me with his fine presence. But the fact that his face is twisted into a snarling mask of anger gives me enough of a hint.

“Stay away from Scarlett,” he barks, his voice dripping with menace. “Stay away from my wife.”

“Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard.” He says, jabbing me in the chest like we’re still kids and he’s still got the ability to bully me. Only, those days are long gone. Seven-year-old me might have taken his shit, but the thirty-seven-year-old man I am now is a completely different story.

I drop the wrench, raising an eyebrow. “What if I don’t…

?” I say, squaring up to him, loving the fact that physically I’m so much bigger than him now.

It took me years and years of honing my muscles, turning myself into a beast. Oh, Alexander may play pretend at working out, he may be physically fit enough for most people’s tastes but compared to me, he looks what he is; weak. Pathetic.

“…What if I find her wandering down a dark corridor, all drugged up and confused?” I continue, “What if I decide to take a nice little bite and see how she tastes?”

“You fucking dare.” He hisses, shoving me, only I don’t budge an inch because I’m not the little boy he can beat up and hurt anymore.

“You lay one finger on her…”

“And you’ll what?” I sneer. “Go running to dad? Like he gives a fuck. You’ve been whoring her out to him…”

“I’ll have you gone. They won’t welcome you back. Your invite will be rescinded.”

I let out a loud laugh. He was always a pompous prick. Always full of fancy words and fancy phrases, as if they’re some sort of shield he can use to prove his superiority, but right now he’s out of his depth. I could squish him like a bug, snap him like a twig.

“Dad won’t do that.” I state. “He likes me here. He likes that I’m back in the fold. The great prodigal son, all rehabilitated.”

He glares, but he knows it’s true. Alexander may provide the stability, maybe the future of Forster Enterprises, but I’m the true favourite. I’ve ensured that’s the case, despite his desperate attempts to oust me.

“But you, brother.” I add. “You need to watch yourself. Mother’s already sick of your shit.

It won’t be long before father is too. Once this situation with your wife is over, maybe he’ll have no further uses for you.

Maybe he’ll disinherit you, cut you off, and I’ll get everything you’ve worked so hard for. ”

Alexander’s face turns a deeper shade of red, his fists clenching at his sides. “Our dad will never disinherit me now,” he snarls. “Not after what I’ve done for him. Not after I’ve allowed him free rein with Scarlett.”

My laugh is bitter, my eyes glinting with malice.

Christ, the way he talks about her.

“Scarlett won’t be around forever, though, will she?” I point out. “What exactly have you got to offer once your wife’s pretty cunt is gone?”

Alexander’s eyes flash with fury, and before I can react, he lunges at me, fists flying.

What he lacks in skill, he makes up for in speed. It’s what catches me off guard. He used to be slower. I guess the fucker has been working out more than I realised.

His knuckles connect with my jaw. My head snaps back, but my reflexes are good. My own right hand comes up swiftly and even harder. I pound my fist into his face, hoping he feels every single bit of my hatred for him.

He stumbles back, and then our father appears out of nowhere, stepping between us and grabbing Alexander by the collar to stop him from landing flat on his arse.

“Enough.” he shouts, his voice loud and commanding, taking on that tone we both know so well. “We need to stop the petty bickering. We need to work together now, focus on the end game.”

I wipe the streak of blood from my lip and scowl at my brother, then turn my attention to my dad. “What end game?” I demand, my voice low and menacing. “The one where we all get to live happily ever after?”

Our dad smirks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Something like that,” he replies, and it’s hard not to miss the sarcasm in his voice. “Scarlett won’t be around much longer, and once she’s gone, once everything is as it should be, we can all start afresh.”

I roll my eyes at that tone of his. “I hope you’re all happy when it’s done,” I mutter under my breath.

“Talking of Scarlett,” Alexander says, glancing from me to our father. “It’s late, she’s already in bed, waiting.”

Our dad lets out a little chuckle and I swear I see his hand move, see him rub his groin like he already can’t help himself.

“What are we doing out here then?” He says, heading for the door.

“Exactly my thoughts.” Alexander says, pointedly meeting my gaze. “Have a good night brother. I’m certain we will.”

As he follows our father out the door, it’s all I can do not to pick up that wrench and hurl it at his damned head. Not just for Scarlett’s sake, but for my own.

But that’s not the plan, is it? She’s not meant to be saved. At least, not by me.

My stomach twists with disgust, and the thought of walking back, of being in that fucking house right now?

My skin prickles with that old sensation and even though I know it’s in my head, that that part of me has no feeling, I rub my chest anyway. I rub over my heart, right where the old scar is.

I need space, I need freedom.

I need out of this damned fucking situation.

I let out a snarl, storming over to the Triumph. As the engine roars to life, my mind goes blank, those thoughts in my head seem to fade and I speed off into the night, away from the horror I know is already unfolding.